


el secreto de mis bravos (the secret of my arms)

by tauraya (karikes)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (because that's the best fucking trope ever), Implied Sexual Content, In which Tony is accidentally an asshole, M/M, Secret Marriage, Super very vaguely canon compliant, and then actually.....apologizes, but mostly the MCU can go fuck itself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 17:59:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14407467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karikes/pseuds/tauraya
Summary: One time Clint forgets his ring, he runs out the door so quickly. Tony notices immediately, because of course he does.“What do you have there, Hawkeye? Got hitched over the weekend? Who’s the lucky lady?”Clint pinches his lips together in an excellent imitation of his husband as he twists his ring off. “None of your business, Tony.”In which Clint and Phil are secretly married and Tony is a nosy fuck.





	el secreto de mis bravos (the secret of my arms)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "El secreto de mis bravos" by Juan Felipe Herrera, which you sadly can’t find anywhere online because apparently the Fresno poets are cryptids or something?? (I literally can barely find anything by them on any of the normal sites, which is quite frankly depressing!!! Salinas alone……) but I’ll post the full poem in the end notes. It was originally written in Spanish and then translated to English, so I’ll have both versions down below. 
> 
> **Warning:** I do reference past physical abuse, mostly Clint’s scars from it, but if that stuff is even remotely a problem for you, I would advise you to tread carefully.
> 
> A thousand thanks to the incredible [SHCombatalade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SHCombatalade/pseuds/SHCombatalade) for 1. screaming about this ship with me 2. dragging me in further and 3. helping me figure out some plot stuff. You're the best <3

Phil doesn’t wear his wedding ring at work. It goes around his neck with his dog tags. Clint does the same. They discussed it after filing their relationship forms with SHIELD, years before they ever got married. Neither of them thinks it particularly wise to advertise their partner as a glaring weakness- not in their line of work.

And then there’s the fact that they’re both incredibly private people. It took Clint a year of knowing Phil to find out that the reason Phil never eats in the cafeteria is because he’s allergic to soy, and it’s in literally everything. He’d thought maybe a life-threatening allergy might have been important to know, but Phil had just pinched his lips and said it wasn’t pertinent information unless Clint was going to be cooking for him.

And then Clint was cooking for him a year later.

On the rare days they have off, they slide the gold bands onto their ring fingers. It feels like they’re only married on special occasions sometimes, but they’re alright with that. They know, and they made this choice a long time ago.

One time Clint forgets his ring, he runs out the door so quickly. Tony notices immediately, because of course he does.

“What do you have there, Hawkeye? Got hitched over the weekend? Who’s the lucky lady?”

Clint pinches his lips together in an excellent imitation of his husband as he twists his ring off. “None of your business, Tony.”

It’s not like it would matter if anyone on the team knew. Natasha was at their wedding, but she isn’t Tony Stark, who runs his mouth at every available opportunity. It’s about safety, first and foremost. And also there’s the fact that they like it being special. Everyone knows Clint and Coulson are friends, so they’re left the fuck alone to be romantic in peace and privacy.

“If you try to look it up in the SHIELD database, you won’t find anything,” Clint says.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Are you just fucking with me?”

Clint echoes his movement. “I don’t know? Am I?”

Tony starts asking Clint about his wife after that, nagging and nagging until Clint finally snaps.

“I don’t have a wife. Will you shut up and leave me the fuck alone?”

“What’s the wedding ring for, then? I know you wear it with your tags, so it’s gotta be real.” Tony folds his arms across his chest. “Spill the beans, Barton.”

Clint’s face is stony. “Guess.”

It takes Anthony Stark, billionaire genius extraordinaire, a full two minutes. “You have a husband!” He exclaims gleefully.

“Congratulations. You have a brain. Anything else personal you’d like to know?” Clint immediately decides to start feeding Tony crazy stories. When, he isn’t sure, but he’ll be damned if he isn’t going to use this opportunity to string the man along.

“How many years?”

Clint is not expecting the look of genuine interest that crosses Tony’s face. “Ninety-four. I’m not playing this game,” he says anyways.

Steve comes up to him two days later and says something about not knowing Clint was married, and Clint can’t exactly huff in Captain America’s face and say “It’s none of your damn business,” so he settles for, “There’s a reason for that. Tony found out by accident.”

Steve’s brow furrows and he nods. “I understand.”

No one else approaches Clint and he thinks that maybe he’s dodged a bullet. And then Nat tells him Stark is gunning for an anniversary date and a name.

Clint groans. “I forget to take my wedding ring off one damn time and this is what I deal with. There’s a reason we wanted to keep it quiet.”

She looks ever so slightly concerned, just around her eyes. “I know. Has Phil gotten any attention lately? Do they suspect?”

“I mean, we don’t hide that we’re friends, but we do avoid PDAs as a hard rule. That guy’s got an ass on him, though. Sometimes I grab it in the grocery store and then he gives me that _look_ and-”

Nat places her hand over his mouth. “I’m going to stop you right there, Barton. I would advise not feeding the monster. That’s all. Don’t fuck with Stark, and don’t tell him shit.”

Clint nods, even though he knows he won’t be able to resist.

He makes it a week before he tells Tony- mid-battle, mind you- that his husband is vegan. “Eats tofu like it’s crack,” he says cheerfully.

Clint tells Phil hours later, crying with laughter. Phil stares at him for several minutes before he grins suddenly, blindingly.

“Alright,” he says. “That’s actually funny. But no more. You’re going to drive Stark rabid.”

“You love me,” Clint says, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Despite my better judgement,” Phil says drily, but he kisses Clint right after that, so it’s not like he actually means it.

“You married me.” Clint’s voice is muffled by his husband’s mouth, but he says it anyways.

Phil knows what he’s saying, anyways.

*

Phil never forgets to take off his ring. Clint doesn’t know how he’s never once forgotten in five years. “You’re making me look bad for slipping once,” he says one evening, after a SHIELD call interrupted their taco date.

Phil just looks at him, pulls him in for a bruising kiss, and slaps his ass. “You only ever make me look good. Now come on. We have work to do.”

Clint smirks. “You could be doing me right now.”

Phil is already walking towards the door. “Quinjet will be here in two minutes.”

“Our work is such a cockblock,” Clint grumbles. “Haven’t had sex for three weeks because of saving the damn world, and here we are, about to finish our tacos and go have some great orgasms, and fucking SHIELD is sending a quinjet in two minutes.”

Phil doesn’t say anything, but Clint knows that he agrees with him.

“Tomorrow, huh?”

“Ring,” Phil says, his own already gone.

Clint sighs, squirreling his away thirty seconds before they’re climbing onto the quinjet.

Phil leans over after they’re on board. “Tomorrow.” And then he turns to Hill and starts talking, somehow seamlessly implying he and Clint just happened to be out for dinner as friends and that’s why they’re being picked up together.

All Clint can think about during their debriefing is the outline of Phil’s hand on his ass. Phil knows it, the tease, because he’s looking at Clint like he doesn’t normally look at him during work hours, like he can see every thought burned into Clint’s brain because he’s having them too.

Clint smiles, just a little, and turns to the folder in front of him.

Tomorrow turns out to be two weeks later. They get hauled on a mission in Paris, which should be fun, except Clint spends most of a week in a sewer and the other week Phil spends in there with him, so. Not fun.

And no sex for over a month now.

When they get back, Clint tells Tony his husband shaves with Gillette razors and refuses to change brands. “Swears they’re all that work.”

Phil shaves with a straight razor. Clint had nearly jumped out of his skin the first time he went to watch Phil shave and he had flipped open the blade with practiced ease, but he hadn’t been surprised that Agent Coulson- professional badass- shaved with a straight razor.

“Of course you do,” he’d said, smiling, and then Phil had shaved him. There were blowjobs after that.

Clint smirks a little thinking about it, and raises his chin. “The guy nicks himself at least twice a week.”

Phil never nicks himself. Phil was never even clumsy as a teenager. He did gymnastics for five years, before he decided he didn’t want to go to the Olympics and joined the Army instead. There’s pictures of him in leotards that he’s not embarrassed about and keeps in a photo album at his mom’s house.

Tony raises his eyebrows. “Are you just going to feed me breadcrumbs until I actually get a chance to meet the guy?”

Clint grins cockily. “You know it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going home to tofu scramble.”

Phil is waiting for him with Chinese and _Keeping Up with the Kardashians._ Neither of them is ever telling how much they love trashy TV, but it’s been a long two weeks and they don’t smell like sewer anymore so. Comfort and then sex later.

Sex later ends up being falling asleep on the couch, stumbling to bed at 3am, and leisurely fucking in the morning light. They are halfway through a late breakfast when their phones go off, almost in perfect unison.

Clint doesn’t even bother groaning, just kisses Phil and goes to put pants on.

*

After this mission, he tells Tony that his husband gardens.

Phil killed a cactus once. Watering it twice a week, that’s all that was required, and Clint came home to a brown shriveled up thing that made Phillip James Coulson actually wince when Clint asked him about it.

Clint has an orchid that Nat gave him. Phil isn’t allowed to look at it.

Stark eyebrows Clint, like he’s been doing a lot lately. “So he’s a vegan, and he gardens. He shaves with Gillette razors and nicks himself a lot. Still don’t have a name. Haven’t met him.” He folds his arms across his chest. “I mean, there’s being mean, and there’s being mean.”

Phil walks up just then, except he isn’t Phil right now, he’s Agent Coulson. “Debriefing in two minutes, Barton. Get your ass there. Now.”

“You don’t want me to dress up for the occasion?” Clint flutters his eyelashes. This is just him- the flirting and sarcasm. Tony won’t suspect a thing. Phil is likely thinking about his husband’s ass in various states of undress. Which is good, because that’s exactly what Clint was going for.

“Only if you can do it in two minutes,” Phil says, not even turning his head.

“I’m talented,” Clint shouts and grins at Tony.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Go flirt with someone else.”

*

If Tony actually digs in SHIELD files, which he absolutely does not do one night a couple weeks after the vegan info, he will discover something. Not actually any good info, because apparently Barton’s marriage is classified, or some bullshit.

Barton’s file reads like- nothing. There’s hardly anything on there.

BARTON, CLINTON FRANCIS 

DATE OF BIRTH: 01/07/1971

FAMILY MEMBERS, IF ANY: Charles Bernard “Barney” Barton (brother)

MEDICAL CONDITIONS: [Redacted].

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: [Redacted]

NAME OF PARTNER/SPOUSE, IF APPLICABLE: [Redacted]

OCCUPATION OF PARTNER/SPOUSE, IF APPLICABLE: [Redacted]

RESIDENCE OF PARTNER/SPOUSE (not applicable if Form 17R-8: Notice of Intent to Cohabitate has been filed): [Redacted]

And then there’s the PERSONAL HISTORY/INFORMATION OF NOTE section that’s seventeen pages of redacted material.

Tony sighs and opens the note attached to the file. It reads:

_Level 14 clearance required to access Barton’s relationship information. Level 10 for any other information._

He scrubs a hand through his hair and goes to get more coffee. The government is easy to hack, but level fourteen SHIELD clearance is not exactly easy to fake. Which means that he will probably devote at least a week to just figuring out how to get to level ten in his spare time- of which he doesn’t have a lot.

Is it really worth it to find out about a husband that Clint appears to be reluctantly offering information on?

Yes, of course it is. His relationship status is officially classified, which means Tony isn’t even supposed to know that Clint is married.

Except then the world falls apart and Clint almost dies and Coulson actually does for some period of time.

Tony forgets to look into Clint’s husband for a long time.

Until Clint forgets his wedding ring again. It’s been two years since the first incident, and Tony smirks so wide that Clint tells him to fuck off. Not that Clint wouldn’t already be telling Tony to fuck off, but still. Tony remembers.

“You never did tell me anything else about that husband of yours.”

“There’s a reason for that.”

“Because he’s an agent too?”

Clint looks at him, his eyes tight and his face blank. He says nothing.

“I looked at your file a while ago. You were right, I found jack shit. Whether or not you even live with the guy is redacted. Level fourteen clearance required. Your relationship status is classified. That’s some pretty heavy measures to go to for privacy.”

A muscle in Barton’s jaw jumps. “There’s a reason for that,” he repeats. “We like it this way. If I tell you I’m the one who proposed, will you leave it alone for good?”

Phil proposed. It’s not because he’s the dominant one in the relationship, but rather that Phil beat Clint to it.

The first thing Clint had said was, “God fucking damn it, Phil. Can’t give me a couple a weeks to rustle up a ring? You gotta jump me first?”

Phil’s mouth had twitched into a smile. “Is that a yes, then?”

Clint had kissed him and said yes a hundred times before Phil manhandled him out of his clothes. (Phil’s definitely the dominant one in the relationship.)

“Maybe.” Tony eyes the tenseness in Clint’s shoulders and the firm set of his mouth. He realizes suddenly that’s he’s been a massive asshole while thinking he was only being an interested friend. “Fuck,” he says softly. “I’m sorry for being such a dick.”

“Forget about it,” Clint grits out.

Tony doesn’t mention knowing about the guy’s brother. Somehow, it seems like it’ll just confirm his branding of a total asshole.

*

Clint relaxes some after Tony apologizes. Enough that both he and Phil get wedding ring tans from going up to their cabin in upstate New York for a rare weekend away. Nat notices within the first five seconds and hands Clint a can of spray tan- the good kind. Phil gets some too, apparently, because his hands look normal when they pass each other in the hall sometime around lunch Monday.

Tony just asks how Clint’s husband is doing from time to time. He does ask once if there’s any kids, and Clint just snorts and rolls his shoulders before giving a curt “No.” He then stalks to the target practice and shoots until his shoulders burn- which is a long fucking time when you’re the best archer in the world.

He and Phil want kids, but it’s absolutely not feasible. Not now. If one of them retires, maybe. But neither of them are retiring unless a serious injury happens. And if a serious injury happens, kids might still not be feasible. Besides, neither of them are young. Phil’s older than Clint, enough that if they were younger there would be a lot of old man jokes, but they’re not younger. And serious injuries in their line of work usually mean death.

Phil’s mom knows that they work some crazy government job and therefore kids aren’t on the table, and his sister and her husband adopted two of their own, so it’s not like she won’t get grandkids.

Clint is afraid that if by some slim chance they do end up being able to adopt, he’ll be a fuckup parent. _Like his dad,_ he means, and does not say. Phil knows. He’s read the classified seventeen pages in the PERSONAL HISTORY/INFORMATION OF NOTE section of Clint’s file. He wrote most of it, actually.

Clint straps his bow over his shoulder and starts gathering his arrows. His mouth is dry, and he thinks that he’s probably going to start wishing one of them loses a leg just so he can have a child that he’ll be terrified of. He’s fucked up. He knows that. But Phil knows that too. And Phil married him.

They both know that kids are a pipedream, but sometimes, someone says something, and Clint’s brain keeps circling as if something will change. Phil alway senses it, because he’s himself. They’ll probably go out for dinner tonight, something nice.

Phil alway takes him somewhere nice after someone says something about kids. It helps somehow, the ritual, even if Clint will never be entirely comfortable spending more than thirty bucks on a meal.

*

Clint is leaving Tony’s lab late one night, new bow in hand, when he hears voices coming down the corridor. He recognizes Phil and Pepper almost immediately, but doesn’t walk around the corner because Pepper has just said something very interesting.

“How’s the cellist in Portland?”

“Not in Portland anymore,” Phil says evenly.

Clint can hear the smile in Pepper’s voice when she replies. “He moved in with you? Phil, that’s wonderful!”

Sometimes, Clint wonders if they fuck with people they care about too much. But Phil had the cellist white lie going for a year before they got together, so maybe they’re fine. Besides, Phil’s managed to convince Pepper that he’s been long distance for this long- with at least two breakups in there. Clint does actually play the cello and the breakups were real, so they don’t feel that guilty.

Clint opens the door to Tony’s lab again, popping his head in. “Oh, and my husband is a tea fanatic. Yells at me about my coffee habit all the time.”

Clint doesn’t think he’s ever seen Phil touch anything besides water, coffee, and scotch.

Tony snorts, but he meets Clint’s eyes for a brief second. “Is that so?”

Clint hums in agreement before shutting the door. Phil and Pepper have rounded the corner by now and Clint allows himself to smirk.

“Agent Coulson. Pepper. How can I help you?”

“Barton,” Phil says- not quite curtly, they’ve been friends long enough that he would be allowed a semblance of relaxation.

“Just asking Tony some questions,” Pepper says brightly, which is code for “Tony hacked the SHIELD database again and he’s getting reprimanded by both of us.”

Clint raises both eyebrows. “Well, I was just heading home.”

Pepper goes into the lab first, a stern look already on her face. Clint signs to Phil that he’ll heat up the lasagna in the freezer for when he gets back.

“Thank you,” Phil signs in return. Then his face loses its softness and he’s Agent Coulson again, striding into Tony Stark’s lab like he owns the place.

Clint’s in his pajamas when Phil gets back, already half asleep in front of the TV. “Your plate is in the oven,” he says, leaning up to kiss his husband.

“You’re the best,” Phil says sincerely, then kisses Clint’s forehead and runs a hand through his hair.

“You’re the one who made the lasagna and froze it a month ago. I just stuck it in the oven.”

“It’s the thought that counts.” Phil moves into the kitchen, his shoes clicking on the tile.

“Did Tony need that long of a dressing down?”

“He tried to access level fourteen clearance material.”

“Damn.”

Clint wonders if that means Tony was poking around in his file, but quickly dismisses it. It’s not like the world revolves around him and his mystery husband.

*

The next time Clint sees Stark he smiles widely. “My husband likes the stupidest pop music on the planet and if I have to listen to it one more time, I’m going to die. I’m five minutes from divorcing him over it.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “You like pop music.”

“Not stupid stuff. He listens to bad stuff, Tony. I’m not talking Carly Rae Jepsen. I mean Katy Perry’s new stuff.”

Tony makes a face.

“I told you. Divorce is imminent.”

Phil likes funk. It had taken Clint a full two minutes to process that the whitest man he has ever laid eyes on has a music library full of funk and gospel. And Phil can dance to match it. Clint had fallen in love with him almost immediately when he found that out.

But that’s just for the two of them in their socks in the living room to know and for Tony never to find out.

*

No one catches on when they manage to have vacation time off at the same time, every time. But maybe that’s because they rarely get vacation time. When they do, they either go to the cabin, or to see Phil’s mom.

Phil grew up without a dad. Phil does not miss him, which is something he and Clint bond over eventually. Phil’s sister Mary apparently misses him, but it’s not like they’re ever going to find the deadbeat guy who’s likely already dead. Mary has three children, and they all adore Clint and Phil.

Clint plays with them as eagerly as he can when he’s with them, knowing that this is likely all the interaction with kids he’ll ever get.

Clint says nothing to Tony about his husband’s family, or his own.

*

Tony is smart enough that he stops believing Clint after a little while. Still, it was fun while it lasted.

Clint takes to showing up with his hickeys on display instead. Phil rolls his eyes everytime Clint asks for a visible one, just above the line of his shirt, but he complies anyways, because he secretly loves the way Clint looks with his teeth marks on his skin.

Tony makes comments about getting some, but Clint just smirks and says “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Sometimes he and Phil just make out like teenagers when they’re too tired to do anything and still want the solace of intimacy. But that’s boring old married couple stuff like paying taxes and cooking dinner together.

*

Clint kind of hates how they’re discovered. Only kind of, though, because there’s something so vindictive about the secret he and Phil have kept for so long being out in the open.

Tony runs into them in the grocery store. Why he’s in the grocery store, he never explains. But he is, and he happens to walk down the aisle Clint and Phil are on. They’re picking their snacks for the next couple of weeks, so they’re on opposite sides of the aisle, their backs turned to each other as they consider exactly what they want.

Clint suddenly moves forward and grabs three bags off the shelf, eagerly turning around to dump them in their cart. Then he looks up, and he sees Tony standing at the end of the aisle, his eyes flicking from the single cart, to Clint, then to Phil, and back again.

Phil turns around, a box of popcorn in his hand, his wedding ring glinting in the light. He arches an eyebrow at Tony. “Can I help you?”

Phil’s in a tshirt and jeans, because it’s Sunday. They’re also both wearing their rings because it’s Sunday. They had sex four times in the last twenty-four hours and both of them are in very good moods.

Clint raises both his eyebrows at Tony. “Yeah, Tony, can we help you?”

“You’re grocery shopping with _Coulson_?”

Phil carefully places the box of popcorn in their cart. “And?”

He’s trying to play it cool, like they’re roomies or something, but they’re both wearing their rings, and Tony’s not stupid. They have a minute tops before Tony starts running his mouth off. Clint decides that their secret’s blown anyways, might as well make the best of it, so he places his hand very deliberately in Phil’s back pocket and says, “Babe, stop.”

Tony looks like he’s going to have a conniption in ShopRite. “ _Babe._ You call Coulson _babe._ ”

Clint smirks. “You want to start talking about what I call my husband?”

Tony might be having a heart attack, Clint isn’t sure. “Your mystery husband that’s level fourteen clearance material is _Coulson._ He’s the one who came to chew me out about trying to access level fourteen information. Holy fucking shit. I knew you two were friends, but holy shit. Holy _fucking_ shit.”

A mother squeezes past them with a three year-old in tow, giving Tony a dirty look on her way.

Phil smiles tightly. “We’re in public, Stark.”

“You’re wearing jeans and Clint has his hand on your butt and also definitely just implied he calls you stuff in bed, so excuse me if I’m having trouble processing all of this.”

Tony follows them through the rest of the store, still expressing complete disbelief that Phil Coulson is a romantic, much less sexual being. After they’ve checked out, Phil looks at Tony with steel in his eyes. It’s his Agent Coulson face, when he’s taking no shit and expecting nothing but complete compliance.

“Stark,” he says evenly. “If you don’t stop harassing me and my husband, I will break your arm.”

Clint grins. “I’d love to see that. Pay money, in fact.”

“Clint,” Phil says, still even-toned.

Clint shuts his mouth.

Tony gapes, because Clint never shuts up when someone tells him to. Ever.

“Now,” Phil continues. “I’m going to go home and cook dinner with my husband. If you follow us, I will not hesitate to shoot you, nor will I refrain from getting a restraining order for a violation of both mine and Barton’s privacy. There will be no further comments from you or us. If you attempt to reveal the nature of our relationship to anyone, you can consider yourself grounded for at least two months. We’re private for a reason.”

Tony nods, because there’s nothing else to do when Agent Coulson is talking.

Clint’s kind of expecting to get mugged the next time the team is together. Phil tells him not to worry, but they’ve spent so long being so private that Clint doesn’t actually know what the fuck to do now.

Turns out Tony actually didn’t tell anyone. Clint is so shocked he actually doesn’t talk for a full minute.

Tony claps Clint on the arm and smirks. “Nice to meet the vegan at last,” he says a little loudly. “All that tofu was alarming, you’re right.”

And that’s that.

Except when Pepper finds out. She’s kind of pissed. But she can keep her mouth shut and doubly threaten Tony, so it’s kind of alright. She invites them over for dinner together and Clint puts his hand on Phil’s thigh and Phil smiles into his forkful of chicken parmesan, just a bit. Then Pepper asks how they got together and Clint chokes on his own food, because it’s not really appropriate to say that they got stuck for eighteen hours in a cave one time and Clint admitted he wanted to fuck Phil- and then proceeded to have absolutely filthy hot sex because they were probably going to die anyways.

Clint settles for “We got stuck in a cave for awhile on a mission. We got to talking and got dinner after we got home. The rest is history.”

Clint broke up with Phil twice before they worked their shit out. But that’s not what people want to hear. They don’t want to know about the nightmares that Phil sat with him through, or how easily Phil is triggered by smells. Clint will never explain how long it took him to be comfortable with Phil’s hands resting on his torn up back, or how he still flinches sometimes when his husband of ten years brushes one of the cigarette burns on the underside of his arms.

They want to know about the way Phil smiles in his eyes when he looks at Clint, and who does all the cooking, and about what they like to do on the weekends.

They can’t talk about that either, because they either watch terrible reality TV or fuck on the weekends, and that’s not really something either of them are willing to admit. Neither of them even think they’re capable of voicing the way they look at each other, either.

So two people knowing means that they still don’t know much at all. Because it’s impossible to explain, really.

They wear their rings when they can. They sleep in the hollow between each other’s shoulder and neck, and kiss each other fervently before every mission. They say “I love you” less than most couples, but Clint knows the way Phil holds his shoulders when he’s thinking about holding Clint’s hand or some other sappy shit.

Clint also knows he’s cockier than normal when he’s feeling high on the fact that he’s got the most badass husband on the planet, but Phil never says “Barton” in that sharp tone of voice he sometimes gets in the field.

Phil isn’t sharp with Clint. He allows himself to be soft. That’s the best thing about being married to him, really.

And if Phil were to say the best thing about being married to Clint? He’d smile tightly, his eyes crinkling anyways, and say easily “The sex.” Which is a lie. It’s the way Clint gives all of himself, so freely and openly.

Sometimes, they wear their rings. More often they don’t. But they know, and that’s what really matters.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m typing this up from my Chicano lit class handouts because I’m extra and love poetry so…you’re welcome.
> 
> El secreto de mis bravos
> 
> El secreto de mis bravos  
> un oro de la tiniebla  
> el rumbo de mi sangre  
> un ala del mar  
> el triangulo de mis caminos  
> una estrella de tu boca  
> la blusa de mi guitarra  
> una piedra de gaviotas  
> el dibujo de mi garganta  
> un aceite de tus ojos  
> la flama de mi frente  
> un lunar de tu llanto  
> la soledad de mis manos  
> el secreto de mis brazos
> 
> The Secret of My Arms (trans. Stephen Kessler and Sesshu Foster)
> 
> The secret of my arms  
> a bit of gold in the dimness  
> the course of my blood  
> a wing from the sea  
> the triangle of my roads  
> a star of your mouth  
> the blouse of my guitar  
> a stone of gulls  
> the sketch of my throat  
> an oil of your eyes  
> the flame of my forehead  
> a beauty mark of your tears  
> the solitude of my hands  
> the secret of my arms
> 
> (There's formatting I can't get to translate to ao3, but every other line is indented. *shakes fist* Allow me to preserve the author's intention, website!!)


End file.
